


elegy

by wrabbit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Music, Wakes & Funerals, a word a day, ambiguous crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:08:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrabbit/pseuds/wrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is a masterful player, but only Sherlock can make it sing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	elegy

He's expected to play at the funeral. The piece is melancholy, it is classical, it is appropriate, the pianoforte clean and tuned very adequately indeed. He plays it excellently, because Mycroft does everything excellently. He in no way loses himself in the music, but the black and white sterility of they keys clears his mind as they bow smoothly under his fingertips in perfect, too perfect, time.

The final notes fade unnoticed in the rustling and whispering hallway and a fog of perfume slowly creeps back into Mycroft's senses along with the crowd and a cool stare in his sightline. It is his father's funeral and his brother has come to hear him play, leaning near the exit, out of sight.

Mycroft stretches his fingers and nods, acknowledging his gaze before the boy is gone again. The real elegy won't be played until tonight, when Sherlock takes a hammer to the instrument. Mycroft supposes he should be there to save it from the lake, as it is his now, after all, but just this once he can't say he shall. Sherlock always was the real musician of the two.


End file.
